


Darts of Pleasure

by BellaFuckingRockwell



Series: 10 Songfics Challenge - House [9]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dom Greg House, Dom James Wilson (House M.D.), Enthusiastic Consent, M/M, Married Couple, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Roleplay, Shameless Smut, Songfic, Sub Robert Chase, Teasing, Threesome - M/M/M, Trust, Verbal Humiliation, fluff if you look hard enough, i honestly don't know what the fuck this is i'm screaming, though he's low key switchy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 17:37:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21183356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellaFuckingRockwell/pseuds/BellaFuckingRockwell
Summary: 18+ ONLY. DO NOT READ OR OTHERWISE INTERACT WITH MY CONTENT IF YOURE UNDER 18.Doing the 10 songfics challenge, this time in the Houseverse. Playlist goes on shuffle and for the first ten songs that come up I write a short fic inspired by it.Song 8: Franz Ferdinand - Darts of PleasureSummary: Chase doesn't know how he gets himself into these situations.





	Darts of Pleasure

Chase doesn't know how he gets himself into these situations.

The whole arrangement had been something of an accident. Some weeks ago, after a boring benefit dinner that had evolved into a much more interesting boozy bar crawl, he'd somehow ended up in bed with his boss and his husband. None of them remembered a great deal about it, but they'd remembered enough to want to do it again. Five sober times since, in fact. And counting. Hopefully.

On the morning of Encounter Number Six, House had sent Foreman and Cameron off to run some tests and asked Chase to stay behind. Figuring he was in for a fairly standard request to perform some borderline illegal activity, he'd folded his arms and waited. 

House lifted his feet up on his desk, regarding him with that weird mixture of fondness and desire that was the norm these days when they were alone. Then he'd said, casually, "Wilson doesn't like the way you look at me."

Chase frowned, stomach dropping a little. "What do you mean?"

"I _mean,_" House drawled, like he was stupid, "you're clearly hot for me. I think it's all extremely inappropriate, being the conservative prude that everyone knows I am, and Wilson is the jealous type. Because this all makes so much sense already, we just happen to decide to come to your apartment, tonight, for example, and... you know... try to figure this out."

Chase failed to suppress his grin. He never wanted to appear too keen, but sometimes it was impossible. "Was this your idea?"

"Wilson's." House sighed wistfully. "God, I wish it was my idea. You down?"

Chase made a show of considering it carefully; shrugged, like it didn't sound like the most exciting fucking proposition of his life. "Okay."

He knew House didn't buy his nonchalance, but he didn't need to look quite so amused about it. "Okay," he echoed.

Later at his apartment, there'd been the usual negotiations; what was good, what definitely wasn't. It wasn't until House grabbed him by his collar and hauled him in for a fierce kiss that it hit him that this was actually going to happen.

God, Chase _really_ doesn't know how he gets himself into these situations.

They haven't even made it to the bedroom yet. Chase is upright on his couch, legs spread around House, who is kneeling before him with his hands on his inner thighs. His fingertips are lightly stroking the sensitive flesh there, through his pants, and he's biting back a whimper, silently begging him to go higher. House knows; he's smirking. Enjoying Chase's predicament.

“I've seen the way you look at him.” He's so distracted by House's attention that he's almost forgotten Wilson, next to him on the couch, until the hot, breathy words ghost his ear. He grunts as Wilson grabs his jaw between thumb and forefinger, turning him to meet his gaze. His lips are pursed in lust, a slight sheen over his dilated pupils. “You're a slut, Chase. Lusting after a married man... _my_ married man...”

His groan is quickly muffled as Wilson slams his lips up against his, his kiss open-mouthed and vicious in a way that had startled Chase in the very beginning - _Wilson,_ of all people, being capable of kissing like this - but now he's entirely accustomed to it. His hips stutter upwards as House's teasing hands move towards his abdomen, releasing a whine of disappointment when House avoids his straining pants completely. As Wilson's tongue clashes with his, the sudden cool air against his chest sends a shiver through him; House is fumbling his way through the buttons on his shirt. He grabs blindly for the man before him, wanting to encourage him, wanting to fucking speed this up...

Wilson ends the kiss with a drag of teeth across his lower lip, grabbing Chase's wrist with a growl of, “Don't touch him. He isn't yours to touch.”

“I've always attracted the possessive type,” House muses, raking his nails down Chase's now bare chest. He shudders, arching into his touch. “Somehow. Fuckable, isn't he?”

Chase isn't sure who he's referring to until Wilson grins at him, admiringly. “Oh, yes. He certainly is. So very pretty...”

Then Wilson's hands have left his jaw, and they're roaming his bare chest along with House's, and he's flailing and whimpering and bucking; meeting House's gaze, his blue eyes alight, his satisfaction at his effect on Chase evident in the smirk he still wears.

“Please,” he gasps. He can't help it; can't help the hoarseness in his voice, how needy he sounds. 

The hands caressing him, groping him, pause. He watches House throw an amused glance at Wilson before demanding, “please, what? What do you want?” A hand slides lower still, to his waistband. So close to... “Tell me.”

Chase's eyelids flutter; he can't hold in his shudder as he hears Wilson's low chuckle in his ear. Forgetting the earlier command, he reaches for House's hand, trying to indicate what he needs without the words he can't bring himself to say. 

Wilson grabs him again, a little more roughly this time. “I _said_, don't touch him. We need to stop you from getting yourself into trouble.” As he takes hold of both Chase's wrists, he murmurs, “can I?” Chase nods fervently, releasing a quiet moan as Wilson yanks his hands upwards, holding them firmly behind his head.

House watches the display, amused. “Speaking from experience, you don't wanna get into trouble with Wilson,” he says, as Wilson's mouth starts working at Chase's neck, teeth grazing the tender skin, nipping, electrifying. He pants at the contact, helpless, driven to near insanity. “He's not as innocent as he tries to look.”

_No shit,_ Chase almost says, but then as House's fingers finally, fucking finally, brush his aching cock through his pants, his cry of need spills from his mouth before he can stop it.

House's lips curl upwards. “Mm. Someone's hungry.”

“Desperate little thing.” Wilson gives that chuckle again, and Chase feels a hot blush creep through his face; though there's the usual prick of delight at getting to experience this side of him, a side that so few see. He'd entirely expected it from House, but Wilson's whole deal is supposed to be that saintly doctor thing. How interesting that such a sadistic bastard lurks underneath.

“What do you want, Chase?” House says again, voice lower this time, thick; Chase bites his lip in anticipation as House's fingers start working at his belt buckle. “Have you thought about me doing this? Undressing you...”

Chase hesitates, his breaths coming in stilted huffs. “Yes,” he manages.

“Mm. What else?” He shifts to assist as House starts tugging his pants down, revealing the wet smudge on his boxers, his cock straining against the thin material. As House's fingers spread across the bulge, rough, possessive, he throws his head back, gasping. “Is this what you want? Me, touching you like this?” As he rubs his shaft with the heel of his palm, Chase groans with abandon, feeling Wilson's grip tighten around his wrists. “Have you thought about it?”

“So much,” he whines, watching with breathless anticipation as House rolls down his boxers, finally; freeing his cock, leaking, iron hard. “House, please, _please_...”

“Stop begging.” Wilson's voice is a husky purr against his ear, between bruising kisses to his face, his neck, his exposed clavicle. “You're getting what you want, aren't you?”

Chase writhes in Wilson's hold, a breathless moan escaping him as House's fingers wrap around his bare cock. 

“Hmm. Well, this is nice. If I'd have known you were packing this, we'd have done this a lot sooner.” House's eyes have darkened now, the lids slightly slack, his breaths shallow. “Is this what you want me to do? Stroke you while you moan like a needy whore?”

“House... oh, God...” He's going to lose it. He's going to fucking lose it all over House's hand and then this will be over. 

“Spread your legs wider.” Wilson's command is low in his ear; he can't see his face from this angle, but Chase can sense the wicked grin on his lips. He complies, biting his lip to stifle his cry as House's finger starts probing his asshole.

House is leaning towards him, teasing with his fingertip. “You want me? You want me to bend you over and take you, pull your hair, grab your ass like you're mine? You want to feel me cumming inside you?”

Wilson is panting in his ear. “You like this? You like me holding you down while House does whatever he wants to you?”

Chase almost sobs his desperation, trying to hold back the pleas he so avidly wants to release. House is sneering; or is he smiling? It's impossible to tell the difference with him sometimes. He bites back his frustrated growl as House's hand halts on his cock. “I think he's suffered enough,” he says to Wilson, because he always breaks first. “Can I fuck him now?”

“Don't move, Chase.” Wilson releases his grip on his wrists, and Chase holds still, even though his arms are starting to ache, even though he's so tempted to grab House, or Wilson, he's not even sure who anymore, and touch and grind and kiss and offer himself until he's satisfied them. When Wilson purrs appreciatively and ruffles his hair, though, all he can manage is a contented sigh. “Good boy. Wait there. I have to take care of something.”

House's hand is still on Chase's cock, not moving, as Wilson leans down and runs tender fingertips across House's face. They smile at each other – definitely a smile on House's face this time, he's sure of it – before their lips meet, mouths tilting open, soft and lingering, as though they've forgotten about Chase altogether. Despite his situation, Chase can't help but feel a little moved; the love and trust implicit when they kiss is breathtaking to witness. He used to feel like an intruder, being privy to such intimacy, until it dawned on him that it was conscious. They were allowing him to be. Trusting him as much as he'd placed his trust in them. He knows that for House especially, that's not minor. The very thought is nothing short of intoxicating.

When Wilson pulls away, he presses a further kiss to House's forehead, running a hand through his hair. “Of course you can fuck him,” he says softly, finally answering House's question. “Get undressed for me.”

As House starts the process of removing his shirt, Wilson turns to face Chase, gently rubbing his thigh. “Doing okay?” he asks.

Chase looks at him through hazy eyes, managing a slack grin. “Amazing.”

It's enough for Wilson, who wipes the hint of a smile off his face before letting go of him. “Get on the floor. On your hands and knees. Face the couch.”

Chase complies immediately, kicking off his pants where they still pool around his ankles; noticing his discarded shirt in a crumpled heap beside him, realising he can't actually remember when it came all the way off. Wilson settles before him on the couch, fingers lacing through his hair, his other hand reaching to open his zipper. Chase licks his lips in anticipation, spreading his legs wider for House as he hears those delicious sounds behind him; the cap pop off a bottle, the rustle of a condom wrapper. Wishing he could turn his head, see House naked, hard, hard for _him_, but with Wilson leering over him he doesn't dare to look.

His eyes fall closed as Wilson runs his cock over his lips; he tingles with satisfaction at Wilson's gasp as he runs his tongue over his slit. His voice, husky now, warns: “don't you dare wear yourself out too much. We're not nearly done with you.”

His words come just as House presses that first finger inside him, slick with lube, and it's glorious, having so much attention lavished on him, all the torment of the evening finally worth it. For now, Chase lets himself slip away into bliss. It's going to be a long night.


End file.
